To Swim With Fish
by Leonhard van Euler
Summary: When his obligations to the wizarding world are over and done with, Harry escapes to the muggle world under a new identity: James Bond. Very soon he is given an offer to join Her Majesty's Secret Service, and without much thought, he accepts.
1. Chapter 1

**I was actually studying for exams but I got side-tracked. Let's blame professors who upload their slides online - they're to blame for the fact that I even turn on my laptop during the exam-phase.**

 **I don't smoke and in this fanfiction I do not promote the idea or concept of smoking. I am simply writing that which best fits the character. Also university students drink so much, so that's completely appropriate.**

* * *

Harry stared down at his gin morosely. This was no Firewhiskey, but it would have to do for the time being. He watched the amber liquid swirling merrily in the glass as he twirled the cheap plastic stick he'd been given and was vaguely reminded of memories spinning in a pensieve. This thought only brought another onslaught of his own recollections from the war and he winced as faces of the dead floated up to the fore-front of his mind.

The small pub he now found himself in was a little thing in the outskirts of Camden, with electric lights and hand prepared drinks and food. Very muggle indeed — and very much a place where no one would expect him to be.

"Rough day?" The bartender said grimly, wiping his hands on the very dirty cloth draped over his shoulder. Harry lifted a shoulder in response. His facial expression must've given more away because the bartender winced in sympathy and rapidly prepared him a second drink. It made a clinking sound upon sliding to a stop right next to the tumbler that Harry was currently nursing.

Early morning night shone through the tinted windows and the floor lit up in a multitude of patterns as rays of light began to slowly lit up the bar. A few of the other patrons that had managed to stay awake through the night, now began gathering their things and tiredly leaving the pub. Two men in the corner were drunkenly muttering 'you're my best friend', 'no, _you're_ my best friend' to each other, making Harry's lips form into a half-formed smile.

He too, downed his last drink and stood up shakily, nodding goodbye at the bartender. He happily scooped up the stack of coins that Harry had placed on the counter and proceeded to begin cleaning up (that is to say, waking up the less motivated from their slumber).

Harry swung his jacket over his shoulder and began making his way to the tube. _Back to work,_ he thought grimly. However, catching his reflection in a shopping room window, he winced at the look he was sporting: Dudley's trousers, paired with a t-shirt and a denim's jacket, all of which was untucked and unappealing. His hair, too, was sticking out in every direction.

He didn't trust himself to walk home and apparate whist in this state was out of the question, so with a deep sigh, he defended into the underground. In almost a haze, he returned to his small London flat. It was as unwelcoming and spartan as always, instantly making him want to leave that cursed place. He showered, dressed and made himself an early breakfast. Then grabbing his leather satchel he departed for his first 8am class.

Harry trudged into the lecture hall, barely regarding the other students that were also slowly streaming into the room, most sipping coffee and fogging up their glasses. He slumped down in a chair right at the back of the hall and tiredly opened a notebook. The lecture began, and he did all he could not to fall asleep. It was nearing the end of said lecture when he felt something hit the back of his head.

He ignored it — until it happened again. He quickly turned, eager to catch the offender in the act: sitting a few seats behind him, was a young man with serious, hazel eyes and dark, thick eyebrows. His hair was immaculate and he was dressed very primly — exactly the opposite of what Harry looked like right now.

"The hell?" Harry whispered harshly at him. A few students glanced at him in vague annoyance — many were on the verge of falling asleep. Peter Fleming. He had been Harry's roommate in his first year at Cambridge. And he was studying computer science, so why in the hell would he be in a law lecture?

The young man stared at him seriously over the top of a laptop and Harry realised all of a sudden that the person next too him too had a laptop, and the person next to _him as well_ and so on. Glancing around he noted that he was the only person without a laptop. Ah. Wrong lecture. Right.

Again, he felt something hit him and this time that something landed on this pop-up table. A small ball of scrunched up paper. Glancing over his shoulder at the guy and saw that the other student was making 'go on' gestures with his hands. Harry rolled his eyes and flattened out the ball. A message.

 _Wrong lecture_. _~Fleming_

Harry rolled his eyes. Yes, he'd noticed that, thank you very much. Pointedly, he shredded the paper into small pieces. Another scrunched up ball landed on his pop-up desk. He flattened it out again.

 _You look crap. Get some sleep. ~Fleming_

Harry turned in his seat and was about to angrily speak to the guy about messing with other people's lives, when the person next to him pushed him back down and shushed him.

He turned around the paper and wrote his own message in his chicken-scratch:

 _Your nose belongs_ out _of my business. ~Bond_

Bond. James Bond. That was the name he had decided upon when finalising his school diploma and his enrolment in this muggle university. He threw the note over his shoulder.

Another one bounced back a few minutes later.

 _01010111 01101000 01111001 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100011 01110100 01110101 01110010 01100101. ~Fleming_

Harry groaned. He recognised it as binary code, but was unsure as to how to read it. He poked the guy sitting next to him. The blonde glanced at the code and lazily muttered the translation: " _What are you doing in my lecture._ " Then he continued playing pacman on his beaten-up laptop.

Harry turned in his seat and saw Fleming smirking at him. Harry rolled his eyes, wishing that the lecture would come to an end. The professor at the front was sketching some sort of diagram on the chalk board and his back was turned to the student body. _This was his chance_ , Harry thought, and he very quickly jumped out of his seat and bolted to the nearest door. Presence at lectures wasn't compulsory, but he always felt bad when walking out on a professor.

Once he was in the corridor, he noted that he was a whole floor too far down than where his proper lecture was taking place. Sighing, he decided that it made no sense to blunder in so late during the lesson so he headed out to the small courtyard. A few students were enjoying the last few rays of the autumn sun and were lounging in the luxurious grass. A hippie circle had formed in a small corner. They were holding hands and praying to the heavens. _Such a cliche_ , he thought, shaking his head, amused.

Harry sighed and crossed the courtyard of Cambridge's Trinity College. Under his arm, he hoisted a thick textbook on humanitarian law. He wasn't very certain that law was the right subject for him, but he'd passed the necessary tests so far, and he didn't seem very terrible at it. It seemed like a lot of the people studying with him, too, didn't really know what to do with their lives. He supposed most 22-year-olds were like that.

An architecture student crossed the courtyard, nearly knocking Harry over. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the lad who had evidently just left the studio where he worked, evidenced by the large folder of drawings under his arms and seriously dark circles under his eyes. He had apparently worked through the night. Harry wondered if he too looked like that.

"Oi Bond!" Harry turned at the sound of his name being called. His lips quirked upwards upon seeing the only friend he'd managed to make in the last four years: Daniel Fettes.

"You look like shit, mate," Daniel said upon nearing him. He wrinkled his nose at Harry's appearance. The wizard shrugged with one shoulder.

"So I've been told."

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Shouldn't _you_?" Harry countered rapidly. Daniel laughed heartily and slapped him on the back, before answering that his girlfriend hadn't let him leave bed that morning. They smirked and began walking in the direction of the Main Dining Hall that reminded him very starkly of Hogwarts.

"So how you holding up?"

"Eh?" Harry glanced at him in confusion. Daniel's eyebrows drew together.

"Your parents died on the 31st right? Yesterday?"

"Oh," Harry swallowed harshly. He didn't remember ever telling Daniel about that. In any case, being reminded of that fact after his binge last night reopened raw wounds. His hand unconsciously wandered to his jagged lightning bolt scar and he looked away, briefly overcome with emotion.

"Sorry, eh, that was a little blunt," Daniel offered after a moment. Harry smiled sadly in thanks and they fell into silence. They collected their plates of food and sat down, each deep in their own thoughts.

Daniel finally broke the silence: "Seeing as we're heading towards our last few weeks at Cambridge, John and I decided that we'd have one last poker night. You up to it?"

Harry's eyes lazily met Daniel's. He was aware that this particular friend group had actually begun excluding him from these sort of hedonistic late-night meet-ups, because whatever their form on that particular game, Harry was usually the one who left with all their money.

"I'm always up for poker," Harry said with a small wink.

.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror with surprise; it was a few years since Hogwarts, almost five in fact, and he looked it. His face had hollowed out, baby-fat gone, and his frame had become somewhat wider. He had miraculously grown in height, fitting his brooding face. His dark eyebrows rested over his serious, yet cold eyes. His lips were drawn into a thin and cruel line. He'd been told by some or other female… _companion_ , that he looked quite like Gregory Peck, but having never seen any of his films, he didn't think himself an authority on that matter.

And yet, remarkably, on this day, he looked very much like he would fit in the world of Hogwarts: he was wearing his black ceremonial graduation gown; which was tailored in very much the same way as the robes which one wore for lessons at the magical school in the north. There was some sort of white cravat, but he was uncertain as how to tie it.

Shrugging, he left his dorm and walked across campus where another few hundred of students wearing the same thing he was, were walking (in a deliriously happy fashion) towards the Senate House, where their degree ceremony was to take place. Families, parents, friends were also walking along, some happy, others looking worried and probably wondering how they would pay off the student loans.

Not for the first time, Harry wished his parents and friends could be here. Alas, that was not going to happen. The former and several of the latter were dead. He'd also sworn never to step back into the wizarding world, that also meant cutting himself off completely from everyone he knew there.

"Hey James!" Daniel appeared at his side. Tagging along with him was a family of three. His sister and his proud parents. "Fam, this is James Bond — you know I've been telling you all about him for years."

"A pleasure to meet you at last," the father said and they shook hands. Mr. Fettes was an intimidating man; he was short and not quite thin, but there was something about him that made Harry almost instantly believe that he had the capabilities to snap a man's neck with his bare hands. The mother, in contrast was very quaint and kind-eyed. She smiled and held out her hand, palm downwards, like a lady. Harry took it and bowed his head gently in greeting. Then did the same to the daughter.

"Mr. Fettes, Mrs. Fettes, I now finally have faces to the names I have heard so much," Harry replied in a practiced, polite tone. It was almost insultingly over-the-top.

"Well, we were glad to hear that someone was keeping our Danny in line," Mrs. Fettes said with a warm smile to her son. He blushed at hearing what was a childhood nickname. He ducked away from a kiss. Harry laughed loudly, very much imagining himself doing the same thing if his parents had lived.

"No one keeps _me_ in line!" Daniel said, puffing his chest out. Harry grinned and nodded towards the Senate House.

"Shall we get our diplomas?"

"Yes, sir!"

.

The ceremony was over and Harry had finally managed to escape his acquaintances, many of whom were crying, mainly due to an abundant alcohol consumption. He had decided to stay in Cambridge for this one last night, to finally move out the next day and was now making his way back to his dorm house. He could still hear the party from where he was, and there were a few students strolling the grounds in the moonlight.

He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag from it. Smoke filled his lungs and he gave a relaxed sigh.

"Smoking is a sign of weakness, you know," said a voice from the darkness. Out of this darkness, emerged a man. He fell into stride with Harry.

Mr. Fettes himself was smoking a cigar.

"You're smoking too," Harry pointed out.

"Ah, I am not smoking, Mr. Bond. I'm enjoying a sophisticated indulgence of the gentleman."

"Looks like smoking to me," Harry replied with a shrug. Mr. Fettes stopped walking. Harry, who had taken a few steps more and then realised he had lost his companion, turned and looked at the father of his friend.

"Son, I'll be straight with you," the man said after he had given Harry a considering stare. It was dark and Harry could really see was the beady eyes glinting in the moonlight, and watching his every move with extreme intensity.

"Please," Harry said, stretching out his arms, palms upwards, prompting him to speak. He took another drag from his cigarette, watching as the tip of it lit up with renewed light.

"My son believes I work for a construction company, in fact, I occupy a minor role in Her Majesty's Secret Service. We have been interested in you for a few years."

Harry surveyed him over his glasses. With two fingers he plucked a little tobacco residual that had made it through his filter from his mouth, as he hummed in thought.

"That's not even the strangest thing I've ever heard," Harry said cryptically as he though back to that night that Hagrid had stumbled into the cabin out in the sea and had told him he was a wizard. "In what capacity might you be interested in me?"

Mr. Fettes gave a small chuckle. "Those are particular details that you will obtain when you accept our offer."

" _When_? How can you be so sure that I will accept it?" Harry was mildly affronted that they thought they could manipulate him so easily.

"In the winter after your first year at Cambridge, you travelled to Austria, Kitzbühel, where after one week of learning how to ski from a supposed family friend Hannes Oberhauser, you travelled to Zermatt and skied off-piste at four thousand metres above sea level from the Monte Rosa. It took you half a year after that to master German."

"What's that supposed to say about me?" Harry asked with a small scoff. He tossed his cigarette bud to the ground and put it out with his foot.

"It shows that you aren't particularly scared of death and that you're bored with a normal civilian life. It certainly shows that you'll never be a good lawyer."

"Maybe I'm just foolhardy." That's what Snape would have said.

"Summer after your second year at Cambridge, you took up shooting and excelled so well at it at the shooting range, the police now keeps a file on you. That file is now missing. No, Mr. Bond, you are not foolhardy, you're bored."

Harry stayed silent, because, that indeed was true. The police, however, had inexplicably lost that file. Well, he had just snuck in one Friday night and stolen it from right under their noses. Best he stayed as anonymous as possible: he had paid an incredible amount to fashion this new identity for himself. So much, that he could barely pay off his Cambridge tuition fees now.

"If you change your mind, come to this address on the 31st. We'll be waiting for you." Mr. Fettes said, pulling out a business card from his wallet. He tipped his Cold War Era hat and disappeared into the night.

* * *

 **The question is... should this be continued...?**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter took me way too long to research. The military is incredibly complex...! I had my last exam about six days ago, so I have so. much. time. on. my. hands.**

 **Disclaimer on opinions/actions: Bond is a bit of a misogynist and perhaps a little sexist. He's suave, elegant, and sexy. So any actions, comments, and so forth are opinions that I believe Bond would have.**

 **Hahaha I was messaged by a person asking why the story is named as such: Anyone who's read or seen the Godfather will know that it's a reference from the mafia meaning that you're dead, or about to be. I use that to represent the idea that HP is 'dead' and that Bond is constantly heading into life-threatening danger.**

* * *

Harry stood in front of a nondescript building in Whitechapel. Like everything else here, it was made of red brick and looked rather well-kept. The shop-window revealed it to be a souvenir store. He rolled his eyes: how much more British was this all going to get?

Tucking the business card into his inner coat pocket, Harry approached the door and pushed it open. There was a twinkling sound as the door opened and an old woman poked her head out from behind a bead-curtain. She emerged out into the open and wandered over to her counter. She smiled.

"May I help you?"

"I think I'll just look around," Harry said, inclining his head. Indeed, he wandered away from the woman and hid behind a shelf as he examined the royal family paraphernalia. There were even some new dolls of Camilla Parker-Bowles, who was to marry Charles the next year. Evidently, opportunists lost no time to profit from… well, anything.

There were flags, fake crowns, Beefeaters; it went on and on. And then tucked in the corner, Harry noticed a little model of a bulldog with the Union Jack splashed all over the front. Grinning, he strolled over, and picked it up.

"Mr. Bond?" Harry turned and saw Dan's father standing behind the bead-curtain. He had pushed half of it aside, and was looking at him sternly. Harry glanced at the woman behind the counter; she was completely ignoring them, instead reading a book as she waited for customers.

Harry pocketed the model and followed the MI6 agent.

Behind the curtain, they turned left into a steel corridor and finally approached a steel door, they passed through it and emerged out into a sort of office space. A few people were milling around, shifting papers from one box to the next. Harry sighed, modern democracies were nothing but bureaucracies and seemed to function more due to practiced routine than anything else.

People barely glanced up as they passed through. It was a small office, and only about fifteen people seemed to work there, but they looked busy enough.

"Welcome to recruitment branch," Fettes said. "You don't have clearance for Vauxhall yet."

They walked through the open office space until they reached the last door. Moving through it, Harry and Mr. Fettes passed through into a private office.

This one was different. Previously, everything had been modernised. This office had wood panelling and used almost every vertical surface for books or oil paintings of ships. And sitting behind the desk, was a middle-aged man with quite short hair and an intense expression. He stood up and revealed himself to be quite short.

Mr. Fettes showed him to one armchair and he sat in the other.

Once proper greetings had been said, the man too sat down.

"Good morning Mr. Fettes, Mr. Bond." Harry wasn't even surprised that he knew his name, even if it _was_ his fake one. Fettes had made it evident at his graduation that MI6 was interested in him.

"Mr. Fettes has told me a great many things about you, Mr. Bond, he thinks you have great potential." The man dropped a folder onto the centre of his desk and opened it. In the top right corner, Harry could see a photograph of himself — his Cambridge ID photograph; God knew how they had gotten hold of it. Then again, they were MI6, he wasn't sure God had anything to do with them.

"I don't agree," the man continued bluntly, flipping through the folder. It was quite thick, Harry noticed. "I think you're a daredevil. You're bored and have enough money to spend it on piloting licenses, race-car driving, glacier skiing, etcetera."

"Thank you," Harry replied with a polite smile. The man's brow furrowed and he stood up in an ominous sort of way. He wasn't happy.

"Cheek isn't tolerated here, either."

"I understand," Harry said with a nod, staring right back at the man who was drilling holes into his. Fettes gave a nervous gulp.

"But Mr. Fettes has a good track record of getting it right when it comes to new recruits for the _Double Oh_ branch, so I'm willing to give you a chance, Mr. Bond."

" _Double Oh_ branch?" Harry asked. Fettes coughed in a way that said that he should not have asked that question.

The man across the desk gave him one last frowning glare before he turned away to look at one of his many paintings of ships.

"Do you know who painted that, Bond?"

Harry glanced at a majestic marine artwork of a ship getting lost to sea. The only two marine painters he knew were Aivazovsky and Turner. He shrugged.

"Turner was born to a lower class family. He was enrolled at the Royal Academy of Arts at 14, worked then as a professor at the same academy and created hundreds of masterful works such as this one. By the time he died he had created 2,000 paintings and 19,000 drawings and sketches. What does that tell you, Bond?"

Harry folded his hands in his lap and quickly glanced at the painting. "That you like Turner…. sir?"

The man threw his hand up in the air and stalked back to his desk. Then, addressing Fettes, he said, "Where did you find this clown, Fettes?"

Fettes gave an exasperated sigh, having obviously been gathering information on Harry for long enough to know get to know his personality, at least to some level.

The man behind the desk seemed to decide to give him one last chance and mirrored Harry's action of folding his hands.

"Turner put more than a lot of hard work into his craft. All of this is expected from anyone seeking to join Her Majesty's Secret Service, more so from anyone in the _Double Oh_ programme."

"Now, Mr. Fettes tells me you were invited to this meeting two weeks ago, at your graduation from Cambridge University. He also tells me chances are, your presence here shows you are interested in the programme. Are you prepared to join us, Mr. Bond?"

The man had sat back down and folded his hands together on the desk and waited for an answer. Harry narrowed his eyes: on the one hand, he kept telling himself he was done with his 'saviour complex' but simultaneously he spent his holidays spending his trust fund (which was quickly emptying out) on rash decisions like learning how to ski, learning how to do close combat, getting a drivers' license and using it primarily on the German Autobahn.

Fettes had said it right: he was extraordinarily bored with life. Law at Cambridge had been dull enough and theoretically he could now try and get a job in that field… but there wasn't much excitement in that. He imagined that his boggart today would be a desk job.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied before his mind could catch up with what he had just said. Well, no take-backs, he supposed.

"Very good. You have to be aware of what you're jumping into, Mr. Bond: there is much training involved and maybe, at best, in seven or eight years, you will be executing minor, ah, duties on behalf of the British Government. Now, only a select few are chosen for the _Double Oh_ programme and only nine such agents with a license to kill exist at one time, so a guarantee of being selected by one of them is impossible. The decision is down to M. He choses who becomes a _Double Oh_.

"If your life happens to expire due to your employment with us, the government will disavow _any_ claim to you. Is this clear?"

Harry liked his odds, but nodded, unwilling to make a cheeky remark and make the man more irate than he already was.

"Now, there is the matter of security and making sure you're not a foreign agent. You have been vetted, in person too-"

"In person? Sir?" Harry frowned. He would have remembered being interrogated.

The man smirked for the first time in the entire conversation and pressed a button under his desk.

"Daniel, come in please."

In through the door came a man, whom Harry recognised all too well. After all, they had become good friends in the past year at Cambridge. His hair had been cropped since their graduation, and he was dressed in a tightly pressed suit, which was never the case, but the mischievous look in the eye was ever-present: as was the light, kind smile.

He supposed Daniel and Mr. Fettes weren't related, after all. It made Harry wonder who the 'wife/mother' and the 'daughter/sister' that he had seen at their graduation were.

"Daniel Barlow, I understand he had been studying with you for a year."

More like _lying_ , thought Harry.

"Yes sir."

"Mr. Barlow will be your companion in your training. Any questions, he shall help you. Thank you Mr. Barlow, you may leave."

'Mr. Barlow' gave a salute, a heel kick, and left the room in a military-esque way, stiff posture, precise steps. Merlin, Harry couldn't imagine a worse state of being than that of a soldier. He made himself a promise to be the exact opposite of _that._

"As I was saying, Mr. Bond, there are other requirements that must be met: interviews that have to be done and basic training at the likes of Fort Monckton. You must achieve a minimum of Major or Lieutenant Commander rank to advance to training at MI6. Are you prepared for this?"

"Yes sir."

Merlin, what _was_ he getting into?

.

Every single part of Harry's body ached. No ached, was the wrong word for it. He felt like a thousand knives were impaling his body at once: much like the _cruciatus curse_. Someone turned on the light — probably the Sub-lieutenant who was in charge of waking everyone — and now his eyes hurt too. He was, in an instant, plunged into total light from complete darkness.

Around him, the other Midshipmen were groaning.

"Come on, ladies, out you get!" The Sub-Lieutenant yelled loudly and began ripping the sheets off of some of the tighter sleepers. Harry slid off his top-bunk and fell straight onto Billy, who slept underneath him.

"Oi, watch it, Bond."

"Bond! Get over here!" The Sub-Lieutenant shouted. Harry grabbed the bottoms of his uniform and skidded over to his superior.

"Put on your No.3C dress uniform and get the hell up to command. Understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Oi, oi, oi! Bond's been called up to the Skipper!" Yelled one of his fellow midshipmen. The others began drumming against any steel surfaces, shouting like Indians. He tried to ignore them.

Harry rushed through his things. Whilst everyone around him was dressing in the tropical white on white uniform, he attempted to find his blue pullover. Finally getting everything on properly, he rushed out of the sleeping quarters and ran up to his commanding officer's rooms.

Knocking, he was told to enter, and he composed himself briefly, before pushing through.

"Ah Bond, good morning."

"Good morning, sir!" He said on automatic. The officer's brow furrowed and Harry had to mentally beat himself. The rule was: do not speak unless specifically asked a question.

"You've been with us for six months and have not been promoted further. Usually a Midshipman will be promoted automatically after double that." The officer pursed his lips. "Someone in top brass wants you to succeed quickly, young man. Congratulations, you're a Sub-Lieutenant. God knows what you did to earn that. Dismissed."

He was handed a folder and told to leave. In shock, Harry briefly leaned against the wall of the corridor and flicked through the pages in the folder. It told him where to get to his new sleeping quarters, his new insignia, and what his new duties were. Well, at least that part was over. To make commander from now to lieutenant would take only another thirty months in this godforsaken place!

He passed his former midshipmen, who all jeered at him, he smiled politely.

.

Ten years with the navy, ten years of hell.

Harry stood at the side of his Captain, staring far into the horizon. They were wearing their tropical white uniforms, which Harry hated because they easily got dirty — and there was no way he could take his wand with him onto the ship. There were raids, check-ups, and screenings. Chances were, his wand would be discovered. And questions were never good with the Navy.

He was Commander by now, having risen one rank higher than the MI6 had asked him to achieve. But he hadn't heard anything from them in several years, not since he had turned thirty. He was thirty-two, a very young age for a Commander, but he was good at his job, even if he talked back a little too often. The Captain, in any case, enjoyed playing chess against him.

"Bond, when we dock at HMNB Portsmouth, someone will be waiting for you. I'm afraid your time at the Navy has come to an end," the Captain said, with a surprising lack of formality. Harry's hands were folded together behind his back. They were beginning to sweat. Was MI6 finally recruiting him?

"Understood, sir."

The Captain turned to face him. "You be careful, son. I know where you're heading — it's a dangerous place."

"I understand, sir."

"Do you really, Bond?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I was recruited at the end of my Cambridge career. I have been heading there for eleven years."

The Captain harrumphed. "I didn't know you went to Cambridge."

"Sir, I think you'll find there is not much about me that you _do_ know," Harry said somewhat cheekily. The Captain actually smiled at that comment.

"You be careful."

.

Harry disembarked from the _HM Albion,_ duffel bag under one arm, rucksack under the other. Sailors, Marines, Midshipmen, and other employees usually aboard the ship, were rushing out of her — the ship — almost flowing into the arms of loved ones. A huge crowd of parents had gathered to see their sons and daughters, some of whom were fresh Midshipmen and hence very new to the whole navy thing.

There were a lot of tears, hugs, kisses. A small smile crossed his lips as he searched the crowd.

"James!" The feminine, musical voice instantly contrasted with the rest of the quite gruff voices and Harry turned to see a woman. She was running towards him and he dropped his bags: she instantly jumped into his arms, claiming a long, passionate kiss.

"Hello Mary," he said kindly as they separated. Her wide, innocent eyes stared back up him as she looped her arms around his neck and stole another, short kiss. Sailors of all classes around him whooped loudly, knowing him to be… rather open with his… friendships with women.

"I missed you," she whispered to him. Harry said nothing, because to be truthful, he hadn't much. There was no time on a ship to miss someone. Only their body perhaps.

"You missed me, huh?" Harry said, smirking slightly and placing his hands around her hips.

"Mr. Bond?"

They both whipped their heads around to look at two men who had approached them. They were dressed in tailored black suits and similar ties. One wore glasses and an ear piece. _Inconspicuous_ , Harry thought.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Bond," said the one who wasn't as obviously an MI6 agent.

Harry disentangled himself from his… ah, romantic interest. She picked up his backpack.

"We were under the impression that you were prepared to disembark with us?" Said the agent, as his eyes flickered to Mary. Harry briefly tapped his unshaven chin.

"I was told two hours ago," he replied. The agent 'ahh-ed'

"James, what's he saying? Disembark — are you leaving again?" Mary sounded almost hysterical. Harry almost groaned, he knew he should have left a note on the bed when he had left for duty that morning, telling her that it had been a one-time thing.

He turned to her. "Mary, I'm being called in to do a particular service, which I cannot decline. I'll be gone for a long time, so—"

"So you're breaking up with me," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "Typical," she whispered to herself. Then proceeded to slap him. Hard.

"That's for leading me on, bastard." She dropped his backpack on his foot, spun on her heel and ran off. Harry almost wanted to rush after her, but one look from the agent stopped him. The man was smirking.

"Shall we?"

Harry followed the agent into the car and as he slipped in, and the door was closed behind him, he noticed he was not alone.

Sitting there was a woman with silver, short hair. She had an air of understated elegance coupled with a no-nonsense attitude — Harry instantly liked her. Her stern, clear eyes stared at him seriously, countenance revealing no emotion at all.

And sitting next to her, was a middle-aged man with a receding hairline. He looked as unremarkable as could be. Under his arm, he held a leather bag filled with documents and folders.

" _You're_ new," Harry said, dropping in the seat across her.

"I replaced M four years ago," she replied. "He retired." Her tone was cold and blunt. Harry took it as meaning that he had died.

The car began moving and Harry glanced out of the visibly tinted window: sailors barely gave them a glance as the car moved past them, too busy with their loved ones to react.

"You're James Bond," she said, opening a file that her aide had passed her. In the top corner was that same old picture of him from Cambridge. It shocked Harry to see how much he had aged and changed in the eleven years between then and now.

"Yes ma'am."

"Eton College (expelled at 15), Gordonstoun, Cambridge Law, Commander in the Navy. That's an impressive record," she commented. Harry inclined his head in a show of thanks, never mind if the first two institutions were completely untrue. This muggle identity needed a muggle education. Hogwarts would not have done.

"The trouble is, Mr. Bond, there is no record of you at Eton or Gordonstoun," she said. Her eyes wandered up from the paper to stare into his. She tilted her head to the side, expecting an answer. "Indeed, there is no record _of_ you from before 1998. I wonder why that is… Mr. Potter."

"Ah," Harry said. He again rubbed his bearded chin. Well, at least the MI6 was competent enough to discover _that._ Although he wondered why they had just now.

"Make no mistake, we've known from the very beginning. My predecessor was… curious as to how you would proceed."

"I wish to leave that life behind, ma'am," he said, playing the respectful card for now.

"I see." She looked down at the file again, eyes skimming over texts that Harry was sure an analytical woman such as her had already read ten times over. She extended her hand to her aide, who passed her another file, this one she gave to him.

"You have been admitted to my branch, having passed all the requirements. Congratulations," there was absolutely nothing congratulatory in her tone. "However, you must, much like every other agent, earn the right to be a _Double Oh_. In that packet you will find information to your new address, alternative identities, and where to report on Monday morning. Good-day."

The car stopped and Harry was shown out. Seconds later, he was watching the sleek car leave him in the dust. _Well, good riddance_ , he thought.

They had dropped him at a train station and upon opening the folder he'd been given, he found a one way ticket to London, and an address, keys and legal papers giving him a flat in Chelsea. Well, perks of the job.

Among other documents (three passports!), contracts and so forth, were two badges. One, a badge describing him as an employee of Universal Exports, likely a cover for the Secret Service. The second badge, was the one that excited him, for across the front, read the words: _Bond, James. Level 1/5 clearance, junior operative, MI6._

* * *

 **I'm still very unsure about this story; there will be more magic at some point and probably some contact with the magical world, but for now I want to concentrate on transforming Harry into James Bond. You may have already noticed that he is somewhat more interested in a female 'companionship' than he was during Hogwarts hahaha**

 **Guest reviewers:** Mira-San: thanks!

 **Yes:** Thank you!

 **To all other Guests and Anonymouses:** Thank you all very much!


End file.
